Broken Wings
by IndigoNightandRayneStorm
Summary: Dick isn't feeling himself, but Clark is there to catch him when he falls. WARNINGS: Angst, depression, implied drug abuse, other dark implied things, and man sex.
1. Prologue

**Title: **Broken Wings

**Author: **IndigoNight

**Summary: **Dickisn't feeling himself, but Clark is there to catch him when he falls.

**Feedback: **Yes please, yay reviews!

**Pairing: **Clark Kent/Dick Grayson, Superman/Robin I

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Superman or Batman; I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**Spoilers: **Nope, not really

**Warnings: **Angst, depression, implied drug abuse, other dark implied things, and man sex.

**Beta:** DevilChild13

**Author's Note: **Not entirely certain where this came from, just that I love this pairing a lot. I'm really proud of it; mostly on account of it's the first multi-chaptered fic I've managed to finish in a long time. So, read, review,

**Enjoy!**

**Prologue**

Dick doesn't really remember what it feels like to be happy. But then again, he doesn't really remember how to be sad either. His emotional range has gotten pretty narrow over the years; from tired, to pissed, to more pissed. For a while the mask helped, helped him pound out his aggression, his rage, his pain, but soon it simply wasn't enough. There weren't enough faces in Gotham to crush into a pulp to make him feel something anymore. And soon he realized it wasn't really the criminals' faces he wanted crushed, there were better (less healthy) ways to feel.

And that's how it started. Hunger, and pain, and restlessness, like there was a fire burning under his skin, making his muscles twitch and his jaw clench and nothing is ever *enough*. He tried everything to ease that itching, from bikes and beers, to girls, to boys, and then all four at once. None of it worked.

So he sits in this dirty, slimy bar in the worst part of Gotham. It's the sort of place even Batman doesn't like to go into. But Dick just can't bring himself to care. There's more smoke in the air than oxygen, and you could probably catch herpes or something just from sitting in the wrong chair, but none of that makes him so much as twitch an eyelash. There's a deep, burning blackness in his chest and he has to fill it with something.

Then a girl approaches him. She might have been pretty once. Maybe. But now she just looks strung out and sick, the sort of girl who'd do anything to get her next fix. And she's looking at him, with sunken, hungry eyes, like she just wants to eat him up, and if he let her it might be the first thing even remotely meal-like she's had in a week. She's got friends too, two men, one on each side, like body guards, except they're just as thin and sick and predatory as she is.

She sidles over to him, slow and sultry like, and he's pretty sure that whatever it is she's wearing doesn't actually count as clothing, or even as a dish rag. She sits down and leans in close to him, her jaggedly clawed hand on his thigh. Her breath reeks of sin and death just waiting to pounce, and there's something about her that's just so intoxicatingly, stupidly dangerous that he can't quite grasp and it's so frustrating something deep and primal in him wants to just grab her by the throat right then and there. But she dangles a little, harmless looking blue pill in front of him and her whispered promises are low and throaty.

He knows he shouldn't take it, knows he should get out of here and go back to his warm, safe bed in Wayne manor. A life time of rigorous training in what *is* and *isn't* good for an active human body flashes through his mind, everything from his mother's 'eat your peas, dear' to Bruce's 'one little caffeine-induced shake of your hand can get you killed'. He knows he shouldn't do it.

But somehow she knows exactly what words to say that would have him blindly following her to hell and back. "I can make you feel like you never have before."


	2. Chapter 1

**Title: **Broken Wings

**Author: **IndigoNight

**Summary: **Dickisn't feeling himself, but Clark is there to catch him when he falls.

**Feedback: **Yes please, yay reviews!

**Pairing: **Clark Kent/Dick Grayson, Superman/Robin I

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Superman or Batman; I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**Spoilers: **Nope, not really

**Warnings: **Angst, depression, implied drug abuse, other dark implied things, and man sex.

**Beta:** DevilChild13

**Author's Note:** So, read, review,

**Enjoy!**

**

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**Chapter 1**

Superman can't decide if he's more frustrated, or worried. Why in the name of all that's holy did the architects who built Gotham feel the need to use *so* much lead?

It had all started out as what was meant to be a simple, light hearted visit to his fellow superhero and semi-friend, Batman, aka Bruce Wayne and his young sidekick. However, he'd arrived only to discover that Dick had apparently been missing without a word for three days now. Bruce, of course, being the control-obsessed idiot he was, hadn't even considered calling in help to look for his ward. He hadn't actually been at the Manor when Clark had arrived, having been out scouring the city for Dick, but Alfred had filled him in.

It seemed foul play wasn't entirely suspect, Clark had learned. Alfred confessed that Dick had been acting rather... erratic of late, and it wasn't difficult to tell that the elderly butler thought his own words to be a severe understatement. Clark had assured Alfred that he would do everything in his power to help find the errant young man and had set out.

But that had been nearly twelve hours ago now and even Superman had his limits. He's searched nearly half of Gotham and found no trace of the boy, and he's now in a part of town that likely even most common criminals fear to go. A place so steeped in blood and sex that he could smell it even from up in the air, and he sincerely hopes that he does *not* find Dick here.

He doesn't know exactly why he does it, but he lands on one of the dilapidated roof tops, eyes scanning hopelessly around. Really, this is stupid, just blindly wandering around and hoping he pops out and says 'here I am, sorry I ran off'? But they have absolutely no leads and it's better than just sitting around and doing nothing. He's about to take off again when he pauses. There's what was once probably an apartment building across the street from the one he's standing on. It's ancient and (hopefully) slated for demolition, but there's what looks like the glow of a few candles coming through the broken window and he knows it's probably just a homeless person looking for shelter on the chilly night, but he finds himself unable to resist checking anyway.

He enters cautiously. There's too much lead in the walls for him to fully see through it, but he knows enough that there is one living person inside and that person probably isn't conscious, but all the same, caution never hurts. The room is, predictably, dirty, rotted, and mostly empty. There's a total of three sputtering, dying candles lighting the room, not that that's a problem for Superman, though he sort of wishes he *couldn't* see as clearly as he can. There's a broken dresser against one wall, drawers hanging out like demented wilted flowers, it used to be painted blue with little white clouds on it, and that's nearly all that's in the room. Except for the opposite corner.

There lies a filthy, threadbare mattress, and on it lies a man, sort of. He is completely stark naked, in fact there doesn't appear to be any cloth at all in the room, and scattered on the floor around him are empty bottles of cheap liquor, used needles and tourniquets, and a few broken condoms. The man, boy really, himself is sprawled out on his back, skin pale except where it's dotted with little patches of colorful scars.

Clark is about to turn away, heart heavy with the knowledge of how many people there are out there who are simply too far gone to save, when he freezes. His eyes land on one particular scar just above the boy's left hip and he *knows* that scar, remembers in vivid detail exactly how it was earned. In an instant he is on his knees at Dick's side, brushing dark hair away from his face. It's longer than he remembers, though it had been several months since his last visit to Gotham, and Dick's matured, filled out more. He's very nearly a full grown man now. But just then, pale, dirty and sickly looking as he was he looked very much like the young boy Bruce had first taken under his wing.

He feels sick to his stomach, a feeling rather unfamiliar to him, as he observes in more detail Dick's state. The dark bruises under his eyes, the grayish tint to his skin, the red mottled needle tracks on his arms, the raw circles around his wrists where it looked like he'd been restrained recently, the wide variety of cuts that marred his flesh. They were of all shapes and sizes, the cuts, some deep and angry, some little more than scratches, some fresh and barely scabbed over, others faded almost to scars added to the collection.

He closes his eyes as memories flash through his mind. Of his first visit to Wayne Manor after Bruce had taken Dick in, when the young acrobat had literally fallen from a chandelier onto him. Of the first time he'd seen Robin in action, all fluid grace and witty quips and quirked lips. Of the sparkle that usually lived in his eyes and the easy laugh he'd always been so willing to share. Images that clashed violently with the one before him now. What could have possibly happened to create the broken creature he held in his arms? Had it always been lurking behind Dick's too open smile? Had they all simply failed to see the demons that were killing him inside?

Dick stirs, slow and feeble as Clark shifts his arms beneath him. He lets out a pitiful sound and blinks his eyes hazily. He's skin feels way too hot under Clark's touch and there's no recognition, no *Dick* in those storm blue eyes.

"It's alright, Dick," he says, voice carefully soft and gentle, "I've got you. You're safe."

A pause. Heavy eyelids flutter and when they finally open again his eyes are a little clearer. "Superman?" Even with his super hearing the word is difficult to make out, barely a breath between dry, cracked lips, the voice questioning and unsure.

"Yes, it's me. It's alright; I'm going to take you home now."

Dick feebly shakes his head. Simply staying conscious is almost more than he can manage but he knows desperately that he cannot handle going back to the Manor right now. Going back. He just can't do it. He wants to explain to Clark how he can't handle facing Alfred's quiet disapproval and Bruce's stern glare with the things he only half remembers doing at the moment but knows that he's ashamed of them anyway. But all he manages to get out is a weak, "No... Bruce... home..."

Clark hesitates a moment in decision. Dick is Bruce's ward, Batman's sidekick; it really isn't his place to interfere. But Dick is also his friend, and he looks positively so fragile and helpless that Clark can't risk doing anything that might hurt him more. The stench of blood and sex and despair is so heavy in this room that it makes it difficult to think clearly and he needs to properly assess the situation. He doesn't know what's been going on, what's led Dick to this. Maybe it would be best to take him out of his usual environment, someplace where Clark can watch over him, talk to him once he sobers up, and figure everything out.

His decision made he takes his cape off and gently wraps it around Dick's thin frame, the fact that it's nearly freezing outside and Dick isn't shivering at all despite being completely naked deeply worrying him, and sets off for Metropolis.


	3. Chapter 2

**Title: **Broken Wings

**Author: **IndigoNight

**Summary: **Dick isn't feeling himself, but Clark is there to catch him when he falls.

**Feedback: **Yes please, yay reviews!

**Pairing: **Clark Kent/Dick Grayson, Superman/Robin I

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Superman or Batman; I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**Spoilers: **Nope, not really

**Warnings: **Angst, depression, implied drug abuse, other dark implied things, and man sex.

**Beta:** DevilChild13

**Author's Note:** So, I had the most fun writing this chapter. I hope y'all have fun reading it ;D. Read, review,

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

He doesn't stop to consider what he's doing. He doesn't think about the hell of a fight he's going to have with Bruce over this later, nor does he think about how he could possibly be in any way qualified to try and help Dick deal with this. Right now Dick is bleeding and dirty and very likely hasn't eaten in several days. Worry about the physical now, deal with the rest later.

The first order of business when they arrive at Clark's apartment is to get Dick cleaned up. After a moment's deliberation Clark sets Dick gently down on the bed long enough for him to change into a pair of swimming trunks. Yes, he knows Dick is probably far too out of it to know, and yes inappropriate things really should be the last things either of them considers right now, but he feels like it would somehow be wrong otherwise.

Once he's dressed he picks Dick up again, cradling him with the uttermost care, and carries him into the bathroom. Turning the tap in the shower on to warm, but not too hot, he unwraps Dick from his cape, quickly doing an x-ray check for broken bones or other serious internal problems. Thankfully, he finds none.

Dick seems to be slowly regaining awareness, the brisk breeze from the flight combined with the solid warmth of Clark holding him having perked him up. And yes, the drugs were kicking in again. He manages to keep his eyes properly open now, and watches Clark with quiet, nearly unblinking fascination. He's never seen this much of Clark exposed without the shield of clothing before, Clark is after all a modest man, and damn. He'd thought Bruce should win awards, but when it comes to the field of muscle, he's pretty sure Superman is world champ. The hunger's back, rising in him, making his gut clench and his head spin and his palms itch and he just *needs* to touch.

So he does. He starts with feather soft hair, angled cheek bones, and god, velvety lips. Clark's hands are large and warm, solid where they hold him, one on the small of his back, the other on the back of his thighs bracing him and holding him up. And it feels so good, and he needs more, needs to absorb that heat, bury himself in it, let it fill him up like his own personal sun. His hands travel further, tracing corded neck muscles, stroking broad, tensed shoulders, feeling skin soft and smooth layered over impenetrable steel.

They're in the shower now, Clark attempting to gently clean blood, and semen and god only knew what else off of him. Water ran over them, and even though steam was rising to the ceiling and thickly fogging up the mirror, it felt almost cool to Dick's heated, feverish skin. Clark doesn't know how to react when Dick starts moving, starts feeling him, stroking him, and he definitely doesn't know how to describe the look in those hazy blue eyes; he's pretty sure he might not want to. There's something dark and dangerously, desperately hungry in those far too large pupils and something vaguely claw like and demanding in that exploratory brush of fingertips.

Dick shifts ever so slightly; his mere fingers simply not enough anymore. Clark's got him with his back pressed against the shower wall; the cool tiles making him shiver and squirm as the nerve endings in his back tingled maddeningly. Of course Clark could have easily held him up with just one finger, he wasn't taking any chances and was using the wall as an important point of balance so that he had a free hand to wash Dick, but Dick took an entirely different meaning from it. His legs were half lifted, Clark's hand under his thighs to support him since there was no way Dick could stand on his own, and in a move that likely would have been impossible for most other people Dick easily lifted his leg, shifting his weight, so that he was straddling one of Clarks legs, the rough fabric of his swimming trunks rubbing deliciously against some of Dick's more tender places.

Clark froze immediately; uncomfortably surprised to find that apparently those certain inappropriate things weren't nearly as far from Dick's mind as he'd been sure they should be. Then he remembers that he actually has no idea what exactly Dick's been pumping himself full of and it occurs to him that those drugs are obviously not as near to wearing off as he'd thought they'd be. He'd for some reason assumed that he'd found Dick in the middle of a come down, but it's now apparent how very, very wrong he'd been.

The sounds falling from Dick's parting lips simply cannot be legal and his nipples are so hard they could probably poke someone's eye out, and he's shivering and sweating. And Dick feels *wonderful*. Every single one of his nerve endings are screaming at him and technicolor fireworks are going off in his brain and Clark is so solid and so hard. And it's all he can do to rut himself helplessly like an animal against Clark's thigh, thick and muscled between his legs and he just wants *more*.

Once he recovers somewhat from his surprise, Clark can't get them out of the shower fast enough. Dick is about as clean as he's going to get for the time being and Clark wraps him securely up in a towel, not even sure himself whether it's more to protect Dick from the chill, or protect himself from Dick. He decides that he really needs to get Dick properly covered and fast, but it's really, really hard to try and dress someone who's writhing violently and is only interested in fucking his brains out on your leg. Finally he manages to secure a pair of loose, soft sleep pants around Dick's hips tightly enough that he probably can't wiggle out of them without conscious effort, but they aren't cutting off his circulation, too much.

He tucks Dick into bed, securely wrapping blankets around him to make sure he's warm enough. Or he tries to, but Dick's still squirming and humping even though there isn't anything between his legs to hump anymore and he just won't stay still. Clark's half afraid he'll squirm his way right off the bed and injure himself, but Clark can only think of one way to keep the young hero still without hurting him further and that thought is very, very uncomfortable. He doesn't seem to have a choice however, so with a resigned sigh he lays down behind Dick, careful to make sure that he is *above* the blankets and Dick is *below* them. He wraps one arm around Dick's waist, high enough not to implicate anything, but low enough that he can at least partially pin Dick's lower half. The other arm he tucks under Dick's neck and loops around his chest, effectively immobilizing Dick's upper half.

Dick is entirely undeterred however and continues wiggling, just as content to rub backwards against Clark's crotch as he was to rub forward against his leg.

"Dick, stop." Clark really hopes that his voice doesn't sound as strained and pleading as he thinks it does. Dick just makes an obscene sound somewhere between a chuckle and a moan.

"Make me." His voice is slurred and hoarse, which somehow just makes it sound more sultry and alluring. And Clark tries, because Dick is drugged senseless and this is so wrong but it feels so good and that's the worst part.

No, no, they definitely *can't* do that. He tries to hold Dick still and yet away from him at the same time but it just isn't possible and Dick *refuses* to stay still. And this really, really should *not* be turning him on.

"Stop squirming," he insists, the extremely uncomfortable nature of their present position making it nearly impossible to focus on maintaining his usual calm.

"Oooh, wha'cha gonna do?" And yes, that is very, very much the voice of a brat kid sidekick except that it's sexy as hell and god this is so wrong. Dick manages to twist his head around enough to look at Clark and there's almost no blue left in his eyes and he's oozing lust in pretty much every way, including some Clark hadn't thought possible. "You could… mm, spank me…" he suggests lazily with a truly sinful roll of his hips, "I have been a… bad, bad boy…" Clark's so stunned he unconsciously loosens his pin hold on Dick and the young man twists around, grinding into Clark's crotch, *hard*. "Punish me, Clark, hurt me. I *deserve* it."

Clark feels sick to his stomach again and its all he can do *not* to scramble backwards until he falls off the bed and hits the far wall, anything to get away from those dark pleading eyes that are way too focused on him. Because Dick *means* it, really, truly, deeply believes it. Believes that he wants to be, that he deserves to be hurt and Clark just doesn't know what to do with that.

"Please, Dick, stop. Stop this," he whispers, the words falling from his lips without his stopping to consider it. And surprisingly, Dick does stop. Maybe it's something in his voice, or his face, but somehow it breaks through Dick's haze and he pauses, stilling completely.

He blinks, one badly shaking hand reaching feebly to clutch at Clark, that terrible blackness in his eyes fading away behind a wall of tears. "I'm sorry," he whispers brokenly and buries his face in Clark's shoulder. There's absolutely nothing sexual in it now, all of the frantically playful energy drained instantly away, replaced by just a small, scared, broken boy trying desperately to cling to something, anything warm and solid and real.

Clark sighs, letting the tension drain out of his body as exhaustion replaces it. He holds Dick gently to him, kissing his head chastely. With soft, senseless murmurs whispered into Dick's hair and a slow rub up and down his back, Dick gradually relaxes until unconsciousness finally creeps up and takes him.


	4. Chapter 3

**Title: **Broken Wings

**Author: **IndigoNight

**Summary: **Dick isn't feeling himself, but Clark is there to catch him when he falls.

**Feedback: **Yes please, yay reviews!

**Pairing: **Clark Kent/Dick Grayson, Superman/Robin I

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Superman or Batman; I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**Spoilers: **Nope, not really

**Warnings: **Angst, depression, implied drug abuse, other dark implied things, and man sex.

**Beta:** DevilChild13

**Author's Note: **Still no reviews, sad :'(. Read, review,

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Clark hadn't meant to fall asleep. The last thing he remembered was thinking that he really should get up and call Bruce, but then a deep, heavy weariness and had crept over his limbs and the next thing he knows the noonday sun is shining in through the window and Dick is snoring softly in his ear. He shifts, disentangling their limbs gently so as not to wake the younger man.

Standing he goes first to the bathroom to wash the grit out of his eyes and the cobwebs from his mind. After such a dramatic, emotionally charged night he feels sort of hung over, thick and slow and fuzzy. Several slashes of cold water over his face and he feels a little bit more equipped to handle the trials the day had in store. He dries off his face, takes a long drink from his cupped hands out of the sink and several deep, steadying breaths, and decides that maybe he's ready to call Bruce.

It's not something he's looking forward to. Contrary to popular belief, he knows that Bruce does have feelings, and that he does care deeply for Dick. He's just not very good at showing it. But nevertheless, even if Bruce would never admit it in a million years, Clark knows he's been worried sick and deserves to know that his young charge is, at least relatively, safe and unharmed.

So bracing himself he heads out into the living room where he won't wake Dick and dials Bruce's personal number that very few people have. It takes several minutes and Clark wonders if Bruce's slept at all since Dick went missing.

Finally there's a gruff, "What?" on the other end of the line and Clark lets his breath out slowly, working hard to keep his voice calm and reassuring.

"I found him, he's safe." He doesn't need to specify who 'he' is, and he figures elaboration on the exact definition of 'safe' can probably wait.

He swears he can hear a soft sigh of relief from the other end, then Bruce's voice is just as hard and rough as always. "Where?"

"My place." He doesn't really need to answer that question since he called from his home phone and knows Bruce would have checked the caller id, but he reminds himself again that Bruce probably hasn't been sleeping much.

He doesn't get a chance to say anything else however as the line abruptly goes dead and he sighs knowing that in a little less than two hours he will have a very stressed out and probably rather angry Batman kicking his door in. At least he has a little time to try and talk to Dick.

He doesn't move though. He just sits there, staring at the phone in his hand, mind chasing itself in circles trying to find somewhere to even begin making this right. He'd come to no conclusion however when a soft sound startled him out of his thoughts.

Dick stands hesitantly in the doorway to the bedroom, hair tousled, eyes red-rimmed, and the blanket clutched tightly around his slim frame.

"Hey," Clark says softly, hoping his voice isn't as frantic and uncertain as he feels. He forces himself to give Dick a small smile and gestures for him to join him on the couch.

Slowly Dick shuffles over, keeping his eyes on the floor, and sits on the opposite end of the couch, drawing his knees up to his chest and hugging them to him. Silence thick and heavy fills the room, neither unsure what to say,

Finally Clark summons the courage to break it. "How do you feel?'" he asks and he knows it's a stupid question because Dick looks like hell and he couldn't possibly feel much better, but it's the best he can come up with.

Dick just shrugs noncommittally, refusing to meet his eyes.

Clark sighs. "Dick," he keeps his voice very gentle, but uses just a slight undercurrent of command in it, "Look at me."

Very, very slowly he does. Twin drowning pools of fear and insecurity and pain and confusion sucking Clark in and twisting his heart in his chest. That look makes his mouth go dry and his throat constrict, the half formed speeches of comfort and caring he'd been attempting to construct crumbling apart. All that comes out is one word:

"Why?"

Dick's eyes drop back to his knees, unable to hold Clark's gaze for more than a few seconds. He's silent for a long time and Clark begins to think he won't answer; the only sounds in the room the steady ticking of the clock and Dick's ragged, half choked breathing.

"I don't know," he whispers miserably, "I just… I can't…" he licks dry, cracked lips, fingers convulsively clutching and releasing the edge of the blanket, "I needed to feel… something."

Clark frowns. "How long has this been going on?"

Dick shifts uncomfortably. "A while. But not… this bad. I mean, I've done some stupid and reckless things. Booze… sex… but not…" he unconsciously rubs the ligature marks on his wrists and Clark's pretty sure he doesn't want to know how exactly the younger man had gotten those. Clark doesn't need him to finish that sentence, he knows what he means.

"Why didn't you tell us?" he tries to keep the hurt out of his voice, because this is about Dick, not him. But it hurts, it does, that someone he cares about had been struggling and hadn't told him, hadn't let him help. Helping people in trouble was his job, and that went double for his friends.

Dick just shrugs. "I didn't know how," he admits lamely. And sadly, Clark isn't surprised. Bruce certainly isn't his first choice to go to for emotional help, and he himself isn't around nearly as much as he wishes he could be.

Dick sits there on the far end of the couch, hugging himself tightly in a far too familiar gesture, looking small and lost and Clark wants nothing more than to just magically make all his pain disappear. But he can't do that, no matter how much he wishes. He searches for the perfect thing to say to comfort the younger man, the perfect reassurance that it would all be alright, that he isn't alone. But Clark just doesn't know what the perfect thing is, so he settles for the best he can come up with.

Slowly, giving Dick plenty of time to see him coming and stop it if he wants, Clark shifts over to his end of the couch and wraps his arms gently around too thin shoulders. Dick gasps a little and Clark wonders when the last time someone had hugged him was. How many times since his parents had died had Dick been alone and scared and hurting and had no one there to hold him but himself?

At first Dick is tense, unsure how to react. His hands automatically come up to brace against Clark's chest, though whether his intention had been to push him away or pull him closer neither can tell. In the end he just clutches at Clark, blunt fingernails scrapping over smooth skin. His neck unable to support it any more, Dick lets his head fall against Clark's chest, resting there, face hidden. His slim shoulders shake slightly and it's only moments until wet tears flow down Dick's cheeks to dampen Clark's skin.

Clark just holds him, tender and gentle as though afraid of breaking him, rocking him slightly, murmuring softly into his hair. "Shh, I've got you, it's alright. You aren't alone," he murmurs them over and over, not even fully aware of what he's saying but the words feel right so he lets them fall from his mouth, hoping somehow they're helping.

Neither of them pay attention to how much time had passed while they hugged, but eventually he calms a little. The tears stop but he doesn't pull away, keeping his face pressed into Clark's shoulder. He lets his tensed muscles relax, breathing deeply the scents that are simply Clark, letting his comforting presence wash over him and sooth the raw, aching darkness inside him. He smells soap and water and closes his eyes as hazy memories float through his mind. He forces himself to pull away somewhat, not enough to move out of Clarks so warm, so safe arms, but enough to be able to look at something other than his nipple.

He hesitates. He's afraid to break the bubble of quiet warmth and comfort that's enveloped them. But he knows he has to say something, the half formed memories still dancing at the edges of his consciousness, just beyond his reach.

"L-Last night…" he starts slowly, unable to meet Clark's eyes. His hands fidgeting subconsciously, stroking Clark's chest which simply happens to be the closest, most easily accessible thing. "I-I don't really… remember… everything…"

To his relief Clark understands what he's trying to say. "Nothing happened," he assures quietly.

Dicks nods slowly, eyes absently tracking the movements of his own hands. "But I tried to make it happen, didn't I?"

"You weren't yourself." Like that excuses it all, just makes it all better. Not his fault.

He opens his mouth to say something, not sure what. But before he can get the words out a solid pounding on the door cuts him off. They both instantly know who it is, there's only one man who knocks like that.

Dick automatically pulls away, clutching the blanket tighter around him. Clark sighs and stands. He unlocks the door but doesn't have the chance to open it before Bruce has pushed his way in.

Bruce pauses just inside the doorway, studying Dick up and down. He's wearing civilian clothes, but there is only the hard anger and determination of Batman in those grey-blue eyes. Dick stands quietly, enduring the scrutiny, self consciously clutching the blanket to his bare chest, but the evidence of what he's been doing is still plain enough to see.

There is a heavy silence for a moment, as though all three of them had temporarily been frozen while Bruce absorbs the situation. Then slowly the tension in his shoulders relax somewhat, the anger draining out of him. An inaudible sigh of relief sweeps around the room, somehow everything would work out.

"Come on," Bruce says, and even though it's the same usual commanding, not asking, tone, there's a slight edge of tenderness to it, the closest he ever gets to showing affection. Clark feels a knot of worry in his chest loosen some. Bruce has acknowledged, not verbally, but in his own way, that something is wrong, and he would not ignore it. Dick is safe.

Dick just shuffles forward, quiet and obedient, his eyes on the ground.

Clark realizes he doesn't want Dick to leave. He wants to be holding him again, soothing and protecting him. It's not that he doesn't trust Bruce to take care of the younger man, because he knows Bruce will. It's just… *he* wants to do it. But it isn't his place. Dick is Bruce's ward, Batman's sidekick. Dick has to go home.

He steps forward and gives Dick a quick hug. "If you need anything…" he says softly, and he means it.

Dick just nods, stepping away from him. "Thanks." He won't meet Clark's eyes, and that worries Clark a little. But Bruce is already leading him out and then they're gone and Clark's standing stupidly staring through his door at an empty hallway.


	5. Chapter 4

**Title: **Broken Wings

**Author: **IndigoNight

**Summary: **Dick isn't feeling himself, but Clark is there to catch him when he falls.

**Feedback: **Yes please, yay reviews!

**Pairing: **Clark Kent/Dick Grayson, Superman/Robin I

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Superman or Batman; I'm just borrowing them for fun.

**Spoilers: **Nope, not really

**Warnings: **Angst, depression, implied drug abuse, other dark implied things, and man sex.

**Author's Note: **Last chapter, and still no reviews, sad :'(. Possible sequel? Read, review,

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

Over the next month Clark thinks about Dick almost constantly. He keeps a carefully close eye on the Gotham news; Batman and Robin seem to be functioning as normal. He wants to talk to Dick, make sure he's doing alright, but somehow he just never does. Both Clark and Superman are very busy, he's kept constantly running, or flying. Several times he picks up the phone to call, but something always comes up, or he'd remember the hot lick of wet flesh and breathless panting moans and he'd simply chicken out.

When out flying around he stops sometimes at the manor, but they're always either out or he just doesn't have the courage to go in. He watches Dick through the windows and everything seems alright, but then again, they'd had no idea anything was wrong to begin with either.

He worries and he watches, but Dicks seems to be in no eminent danger, so life goes on as usual.

*8*

It's nearly sunset when Clark flies in through the window of his apartment. He's tired and looking forward to a few quiet hours to himself, when he stops short realizing he isn't alone after all.

Dick jumps to his feet as soon as Superman enters. He's been sitting on the couch fidgeting nervously waiting for him for the past hour. He smiles shyly.

"Dick, you should have called, I didn't know you were coming," the words fall out of his mouth in reflexive surprise.

Dick shifts, looking at his feet. "I sorta didn't know I was coming."

Concern sparks through Clark automatically. "Are you alright? Did something happen?" he takes a reflexive step forward, hand outstretched, although to do what exactly he's not sure.

"No, no, everything's fine." The assurance is quick, but sincere. "Bruce has been…. Getting me help. I'm a lot better."

Clark studies hi for several minutes. He's still a little thinner than he ought to be, but he's always been slim. He's pale, but that sort of went with the nocturnal life. His clothes are as neat and his hair as well groomed as they ever were, and most importantly the light is back. Not the haunted, feverish desperation, but a genuine sparkle of life in his eyes, a tiny quirk of humor in his lips. The powerful, vibrant energy that he always radiated around him is back, perhaps not as strong now as it once was but slowly returning.

A knot of tension in his gut loosens and he holds back a sigh of relief. "That's good," he says, infusing as much warmth into his voice as he can.

Dick nods. They're still standing several feet apart, Dick by the couch, Clark by the window, and there is a thick, heavy tension between them full of questions and feelings neither dare to voice.

Clark is filled with the desire to close the gap between them and hug the younger man to his chest, to breathe in the scent of his hair, palms itching to trace the planes of his face. But he doesn't. Instead he closes his hands into fists and gives them something else to do.

Subconsciously he skirts around Dick on his way to the kitchen. "Are you thirsty? I haven't eaten yet, I could fix something up for dinner."

He doesn't look back but he can feel Dick trailing him, leaning in the kitchen door frame. He crosses his arms over his chest and watches Clark, his eyes intense as though he could bore holes into the other man's back.

It's only a matter of time until one of them is unable to bare it any longer and says the things they're avoiding. The only question is which of them will break first?

Clark doesn't wait for an answer, and he doesn't get one. He needs something to do with his hands and cooking seems as good a thing as any. He doesn't even pay attention to what he's fixing, far more focused on the heat that is Dick's gaze between his shoulder blades.

Dick has to work hard not to fidget as he watches. Clark's still wearing his suit and Dick can see his every muscle as it moves and he remembers those muscles all too well. The solid, silky steel of them, the power, the warmth.

For the most part he tries very hard not to think about those black days of despair, which is made in many ways easier by his hazy, incomplete memories. Most of the memories he does have he deeply wishes he doesn't. Quickly trying to steer clear of though dark spots, he lights on the one bright spot in all of it. Clark, the gleaming sun that broke through his pain. He has an entirely different reason why he usually attempts not to remember those moments. Even as he works not to fall back into those sticky, steam hazed moments he wants desperately to know how accurate his memories are. Are Clark's arms really too thick for his hand to wrap around? How do those powerful thighs really feel when they flex? How big was that bulge that Clark had tried to hide, exactly?

The silence weighs so heavily on Dick, the hesitance, the memories, the questions. Unable to bare it any longer he breaks it. "Clark..." he starts, unsure of what to say, simply needing to say something.

Clark doesn't so much jump as he twitches, immediately setting down the knife he's holding and turning to face Dick, bracing his hands on the counter behind him.

Slowly, feet almost moving without his permission, he closes the space between them, pausing only inches away from Clark's chest, looking up to meet his eyes.

"I... never thanked you properly for find me... and everything." His voice is small and trembles just a little. He stops himself from reaching out and bracing a hand on Clark's chest, barely.

"You don't have to," Clark assures, "I'm just glad you're alright." There's something odd in his voice, like his chest is tight and he can't breathe properly and Dick just doesn't know what to make of that.

"What happened... before..." the words come out thick and heavy, almost painful. Unable to resist any longer he does touch Clark's chest, feeling his heart fluttering through the thin material that separates them.

"Nothing happened," Clark cuts him off automatically.

Dick lowers his eyes. His heart is matching the tempo of Clark's, stuck somewhere in this throat. Is he really going to do this with Superman, with Clark?

"I don't... remember everything," he keeps his gaze leveled at his hand over Clark's heart, fingertips digging slightly into the fabric, warmth seeping into his palm. "But I remember enough."

Clark's breath catches. He wants to pull away, he wants to move closer. Bu he does neither. He waits, frozen motionless, for Dick to make his next move.

"I remember... how you found me. You didn't judge, just assured me it'd be alright. I remember how you held me close when we flew. You were so gentle... so kind..."

Clark's shoulders are hunching together, his head lowering, slowly closing the height difference between them.

One hand still on Clark's chest, Dick raises his other to cup the older man's cheek, and somehow this feels like the most intimate thing he's ever done.

"I remember the shower."

Clark closes his eyes with a sharp intake of breath. A fine tremor runs through his body but he makes no move to pull away.

"You wanted it," Dick's voice is soft, little more than a whisper as though afraid someone will over hear him, "You were turned on... you liked it. But you didn't take advantage of me. A lot of people would have."

"It would have been wrong."

"Would it? I wasn't exactly saying no."

"You were drugged. You weren't thinking clearly."

"I'm thinking clearly now. Do you still want me?" He holds his breath while he waits for an answer, trembling and uncertain. He's thought about this constantly over the past month. He doesn't know what he'll do if Clark rejects him.

They're pressed so close now, heat like fire spreading between them wherever they touch. Their thighs, hips, where Dick's hand touch Clark's chest and face. Very slowly Clark's arms come around to encircle Dick's waist, large hand resting warm and solid on slim hips.

"Dick..." the word falls from his lips and even he isn't entirely certain what it means. They are very close now; Dick balanced on his toes, Clark leaning down to meet him. Dick can feel Clark's breath on his face, sweet and clean.

Dick closes the space between them in one burst. He needs to feel, to taste Clark, to know if his lips are under laid with steel like the rest of him, if he tastes of soap and clean fresh air like he smells.

Clark gasps a little, hands reflexively tightening on Dick's hips, pulling him closer.

The kiss is soft and light at first, both a little uncertain. But the fire between them heats up until it is nearly unbearable and soon lips are giving way to clashing teeth and battling tongues. Both of the forgetting their need to breathe in favor of clinging to the kiss.

Dick climbs Clark like a jungle gym, wrapping his gymnast's legs around Clark's waist, arms around his neck, fingers tugging at the soft tufts of hair there. Clark for his part has his arms under Dick's thighs, bracing him, hands squeezing and massaging every bit of powerful, wiry muscle he can reach.

They don't stop to think about it. Dick is tugging at Clark's suit trying to figure out how to get it off and Clark is trying to keep his balance in spite of the large, very, very hard desire growing between his legs. He propels them toward the bed room, stumbling slightly and navigating mostly by memory as Dick's face is still attached to his, obscuring his vision.

Somehow they make it safely and Dick's back hits the bed with a soft thump, the tight grip his legs still have on Clark's hips pulling the taller man with him. Dick gives up on Clark's suit, satisfying himself instead by starting to suck a dark bruise on his collar bone.

Clark moans, shuttering with the pleasure of it but forces himself away just long enough to yank off his suit before returning happily to Dick's clutching arms.

Adjusting one leg to get better leverage Dick flips them over, straddling Clark's hips and grinding down hard. Clark's head falls back into the pillow, hands fisting the sheets beneath him as his open mouth loudly voices his pleasure. With inhumanly quick motions he rids Dick of his clothes as well and there they are, naked and tangled up with each other in all their glory, hard and aching with desire.

In spite of his younger age, Dick has much more experience in this area, so Clark lets him take charge. He offers Clark his fingers to suck, then quickly and efficiently prepares himself, all the while keeping constant friction going between them that combined with the sight of Dick left Clark helpless with desire. Dick doesn't take long, aware of the very real danger of both of them finishing before they've even started. When ready he braces his hands on Clark's chest, positioning himself over his weeping, erect cock.

For just a moment they both pause, chests heaving, skin glistening. Their gazes meet and hold, cautious, testing, both looking for reassurance. Were they really going to take this step? Did they both really know what it would mean?

They found the answers they're looking for because moving perfectly in sync Clark's hands cup Dick's hips and Dick thrusts down and they're both consumed by blinding white light as the heat and the passion and the, oh god yes! fills them.

It doesn't take long. Dick flexes his strong thighs, up and down, Clark thrusting up to meet him, meanwhile hands grope and stroke blindly and lips snatch at anything they can reach.

When they hit climax its perfectly timed, Clark's seed filling Dick as Dick's spills out over both their abdomens. Dick collapses down on Clark's chest once he's spent, panting and sated, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of Clark's softening member still inside of him, the wet, sweaty slick of their chests, and the pounding thud of Clark's heart vibrating through him.

It takes longer for them to get their breathing under control than it did for them to perform the actual act, but they don't mind, both so comfortable and spent they have absolutely no interest in moving.

Dick's eyes are closed, ear pressed to the smooth flesh over Clark's heart, feeling drowsy and weightless. "Well, I feel much better," he announces and he can feel Clark chuckled underneath him. "So when are we going to tell Bruce?"


End file.
